


that constant sting they call love

by green_piggy



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anxiety, Canon Disabled Character, Completely, FFXV main story spoilers, Gen, Referenced/Implied Eating Disorder, Smoking, and utterly, anxiety attack, anyway these assholes have, i hate them, most of them are just to cover my bases, noct never actually speaks in this fic lmao, ruined me, seriously don't click this unless you've finished the game, that should be all of the warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 17:35:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9502634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/green_piggy/pseuds/green_piggy
Summary: Ignis, with the help of his family, adjusts to a world he had never expected.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Angyiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angyiel/gifts).



> gift fic for angyie for basically being such a fantastic friend. happy birthday pal!! words can’t describe how much I love you, but hopefully this monster of a fic goes a little way towards expressing it  
> I have no idea how or why prompto got into this fic so much it just. Happened. I hope you like ignis and prompto friendship because that’s pretty much what this entire fic became.  
> gladio shows up a little, don’t worry. noct doesn’t even speak, poor guy.  
> all relationships are platonic btw.  
> title comes from the song ‘mothers’ by daughter. I pretty much listened to all of daughter on repeat while writing this lmao  
> and all of that aside, I hope you enjoy the fic!

For the second time tonight, Ignis awoke to darkness. He remembered little from the first time, only that he had been forced into sleep seconds after asking why the room had been shrouded in pitch-black.

He _knew_ that he was blinking – perhaps the room was just poorly lit? – but he felt hands gently pushing him down before he even thought to sit up.

“C’mon, Ignis,” came Prompto’s quiet whisper, and Ignis allowed himself to relax. “You need to rest.”

“What happened?” he asked. His voice was sharper than he had intended, but he couldn’t help himself – all he could see was _darkness._ “Are the lights off?”

Silence.

“It’s been a long day, Ignis, you really should get some sleep—“

“Answer my question,” Ignis snapped.

He didn’t need sight to see Prompto’s heavy swallow. “I’ll – I’ll explain _after_ you get some rest—“

“Where is Noct?”

He felt Prompto wince, hands tightening on Ignis’s shirt before he released him altogether. He heard his back thump in the small chair he was probably sitting on, and Ignis could feel proper panic beginning to grip him because he couldn’t see, he _couldn’t see_ and he knew his eyes were open he could feel his eyelashes moving they were open _they had to be_ —

A hand rubbed the fabric over his elbow. “Deep breaths, Ignis. It’s okay, you’re fine, we’re all fine.”

“Noct?” he rasped. There was an unfamiliar tightness in his chest, one that made it difficult to breathe. “Where..?”

“He’s asleep – big surprise, huh?”

“And G-Gladio?” Gods, did he just _stutter_? His chest felt too tight when he inhaled. He forced himself to hold his breath before slowly exhaling.

Prompto’s hand stopped moving. “He’s, uh, with Noct. I think.”

“You _think_?” Even Ignis winced at how _desperate_ his voice came out, how high it was. He was on the verge of sheer panic, he knew, but he didn’t know where Gladiolus and Noctis were and he felt exhausted, even more so than usual, and Prompto sounded – somehow – more anxious than normal and _he couldn’t see_. If that wasn’t reason enough to panic, he didn’t know what was.

“I don’t know, okay!” Prompto’s hand dropped away. His bracelets made that familiar gentle chinking noise as he messed with them. “I’ve been here ever since we brought you here. I don’t know.”

He inhaled again, exhaled, forced himself to breathe. Gods, this was an _awful_ sensation, this tight chest, the lump in the back of his throat that he couldn’t dislodge. Symptoms of anxiety, the detached part of his brain informed him, and now was a damn good time to be anxious. “…Brought me here?”

“You don’t remember?” Prompto asked. “I mean, it’s probably better if you don’t…”

“What happened?” Even as he said that, though, his brain was already remembering; Leviathan, Altissia crumbling around them, him and Gladiolus and Prompto leading away as many civilians as possible. He remembered seeing the chancellor’s ship, going towards where Noctis and Lunafreya were, and after that – _pain_ , awful, unrelenting pain, burning his face, his _eyes_ , everywhere, unlike anything he had ever experienced.

After that, he remembered nothing.

Lost in a stupor, he didn’t hear any of what Prompto was saying. He heard him trail off as Ignis raised a hand to his left eye, fingers stopping when he brushed upon rough skin. It didn’t _hurt_ , not badly, it was only a dull throbbing pain behind his eyes.

He still couldn’t see anything. He rested his finger above his eyelid and felt his eyelashes blink open and close, and there were no words to describe his feelings the moment he realised what had happened. It was as though someone had pulled out the entire planet from under his feet and left him to plummet.

“Prompto,” he said, very quietly.

The eventual reply was just as silent: “…Yeah?”

They had both come to the same realisation.

“My – my eyes _are_ open, aren’t they?” Ignis asked, unable to stop the panic from working into his voice. He couldn’t see anything; he felt that, just this once, panicking was rather justiciable.

He blinked dust out of his eyes.

Cold, bony fingers grasped his bare wrist. He would have thought it to be a skeleton, were it not for the familiar, shaky breathing next to him. Prompto. The boy always had icy hands, no doubt due to his skinny frame ( _too_ skinny, Ignis thought, but that was for another time), but the sounds of air catching in his throat did little to soothe Ignis.

He thought he could hear Gladious’s footsteps thunder outside.

“At least you’re awake now,” Prompto murmured.

Ignis tried turning his head towards the warmth, where he thought a window may be open. No light, no change in his vision, only a gentle gust blowing on his face.

“Prompto,” Ignis said, very quietly, and did his best to keep the _fear_ out of his voice. He needed to know. “Answer me.”

He heard him swallow.

“Yeah,” Prompto whispered, voice miserable, “they – they’re open.”

Silence. After what felt like forever, Ignis felt Prompto’s hand slip away from his wrist as the boy stood, chair squeaking.

“I’ll – I’ll get Gladio,” he whispered, and his footsteps bounded away too rapidly for Ignis to respond.

A door clicked shut. Ignis rested his head against what felt like a bed board, squeezed his eyes shut, trying to resist the horrible sting in them. He wasn’t going to cry, he was _not_ going to cry—

The door slammed—

“It’s not permanent, Iggy,” Gladiolus growled, footsteps booming against the wooden panelling. “The doctors said it could take some time, but your eyesight _will_ return.”

A small comfort.

Ignis raised a hand to his left eye, right where the dull throbbing pain was, and winced at the sharp burst of pain. Best not to prod _too_ hard.

“Where is Noct?”

“Still asleep.” Gladiolus snorted, and Ignis could imagine him crossing his arms and glancing away. “Has been for the last few days.”

“And Lady Lunafreya?”

Silence. That was all Ignis needed to hear. He swallowed down the lump in his throat, and when he heard Prompto begin to stammer out a reply, raised a hand to silence him.

“So, she has…”

“We can’t find her anywhere,” Gladiolus said quietly. The chair Prompto must have been sitting in earlier squeaked as Gladiolus sat down, as though his burdens had simply become too much to bear. It wasn’t as though Ignis couldn’t understand the feeling. “We’ve looked.”

In the quiet, Ignis could hear Prompto fuss with his bracelets.

All Ignis could think about was how Noctis would take the news when he awoke. First his father, and now his beloved; Lunafreya had been a beacon of hope, of _strength_ , to them all. She had never stopped fighting against the Empire. Her and Noctis were meant to work together, to become a single force to vanquish the darkness and save their world.

Now that she was… was _dead_ , how would Noctis take it? How would he react to losing his single hope?

He swallowed again.

“We tell him,” Ignis said, voice firm, “when he awakens.”

Prompto made a noise of protest. “But—“

“Agreed.” Gladiolus’s voice had always been far more commanding than Prompto’s, and the boy fell silent. Ignis didn’t need eyes to sense the awkwardness in the room. “We got the Ring of Lucii, at least. Noct has it.”

“Good,” Ignis said. He didn’t know what else he could say.

The chair seemed to make almost a sigh of relief when Gladiolus stood, his boots thumping against the flooring. “There’s a cane next to your bed, on your right hand side. The first secretary gave it to us,” he said, voice quiet. Ignis thrust his hand out blindly until he felt it hit against something thin and cool. Loathing coiled in his chest; if he couldn’t see, he couldn’t drive, he couldn’t fight, he couldn’t look after Noctis, or Prompto, or Gladiolus, he couldn’t cook, he couldn’t do _anything._

He was useless. A dead weight. _Worthless._

_Stars_ , he felt ready to be sick. But not in front of anyone else.

“I’m sorry,” Gladiolus whispered, and his footsteps were marching away before Ignis could speak.

The door shut, much more quietly than before. He couldn’t hear a noise, not even breathing, so Ignis took in a deep breath and tilted his head back.

With a wordless growl, he slammed his fist into the quilt—

“Sorry!”

Ignis froze, fingers still curled on the bedding. He raised his head to the source of the voice.

For the longest of moments, there was silence.

“…My apologies,” he eventually murmured, fingers reaching up to push at glasses that were no longer there – or needed. He made a noise when he realised, fingers hovering for a couple of seconds before he thought to lower them, and Prompto made a pitiful noise.

“Do you want me to leave?”

Ignis thought of a world of silence within darkness, of seeing nothing, of hearing nothing, of feeling nothing.

There were few worse ways to strike fear into his heart, and, well… Noctis was asleep. For once, he did not have to protect anyone.

As if he _could_ protect anyone, whispered that malicious voice in the back of his mind. Ignis squeezed his eyes shut.

“No,” he confessed. “I do not.”

Prompto said nothing. Ignis heard the sounds of a chair scraping across the flooring, and when Prompto spoke, he could hear the forced smile in his voice.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, and a weight that Ignis hadn’t even felt lifted from his chest.

He fell into a sightless dream soon after.

Time passed.

Perhaps it was minutes, or hours later, that Ignis awoke with a heaviness in his bladder. He opened his eyes, saw darkness, and felt crippling, awful panic seize his lungs. His breath was halted, because he couldn’t _understand_ why was it dark it was so dark his eyes were open _why_ —

Something rattled onto the floor from the edge of his bed. It sounded thin and long and – _oh._

Of course.

Resignation weighed his chest down as he hit his back against the bed again. Of course. _Of course_.

He was blind. How could he have forgotten, even for the briefest of seconds?

The spot above his left eye was starting to itch again, irritably so. He made to scratch it with his left hand, but a firm weight made it difficult to move. Cold, too, and quite fluffy when Ignis put his other hand on it. He heard a sleepy grumble and the slapping of lips. Something cool drooled onto his left hand.

Someone’s head, he realised, and then he remembered the events before he had gone to sleep. He didn’t want to move Prompto, not when he had finally fallen asleep, but shame and humiliation twisted his heart as his bladder gave him a painful reminder of why he had awoken.

“Prompto,” he whispered. The boy grumbled. Ignis tapped his hand around until he found a bony shoulder and wiggled. “Prompto, wake up.”

“Mhmmmm.” Chains jiggled as a weight lifted from Ignis’s hand. “Dude, can’t you see that I’m…”

He trailed off, and Ignis didn’t need his vision to imagine the look of dawning horror that was no doubt on Prompto’s face.

“I – I—“

“I need your… _assistance_ ,” Ignis confessed.

In all of the worst case scenarios that had kept him up late in their camps, of all of the horrible moments he imagined happening to any of them, he had _never_ imagined something like this.

“With what?”

How best to word this..? Ignis glanced down, swallowed the lump of shame seizing his throat dry.

“…I need to use the bathroom.”

“Of course,” came Prompto’s immediate reply, and it was quiet moments like these that reminded Ignis of why he harvested such a soft spot for him. He was delicate in a manner that the other two weren’t, so terrified of offending others that he bent over backwards to help them. It was usually a problem, one that Ignis had seen cripple too many people (but no one more so than Prompto), but one that he was selfishly grateful for tonight.

The chair scraped back—

“Can I touch your left arm?” Prompto asked quietly. Ignis nodded, and not a second later, he felt a chill ghost over his arm. It was cool where Prompto’s glove touched him, but freezing at his fingertips.

“Do you have a jacket on?” Ignis blurted out, and he felt himself tense at Prompto’s quiet laugh.

“Iggy, _come on_ ,” he murmured, voice fond. “I’m not the one you should be concerned about.”

For once, he was right.

“There’s me and the chair on your left, and just a table on your right. What way do you wanna take?”

“The left, please.”

“Gotcha.”

A chill flew over his legs as he threw off the blanket; he didn’t know where it landed, and quite frankly, Ignis could not have been less concerned about it. He shuffled one leg along until it reached the end of the bed, then slowly, so very slowly, itched it down into empty air. When his foot tapped the flooring – wooden, a bit wet, but it was only a tiny puddle – he let out a sigh of relief. Prompto didn’t let go of his arm, but he didn’t try to coddle him, either. Ignis was immensely grateful for that small mercy, for the continued pretence that everything would be alright.

After all, the only person that Prompto was attempting to fool was himself.

It took a long time, but eventually, Ignis stood. The world felt different, and not just because it was in darkness; it was as though he had been plucked out of it, and it had been turned through a tiny angle before he was placed back into the same spot as before. Too small to be noticed, unless you were paying attention. He didn’t feel as though he _belonged._

Prompto’s hand was over his own now, guiding him to a bed post. “I just need to get your walking stick,” he was saying softly. “I’ll be back in less than ten seconds.”

Ignis bit back the words that wanted to burst out of his mouth, that he was more than capable of standing on his own two feet, he didn’t need assistance with _that_. He swallowed it down instead, feeling as though he was a malboro, choking down toxic words that wanted to pour out of his mouth. He needed to calm down, to regain his usual composure, before Noctis awoke.

Blind or not, he still had a duty to perform, and he would die before he failed to fulfil it.

_But_ , came that voice again, _but but but. You’re blind. How can **you** help?_

Prompto’s boots thundered against the wooden flooring, breaking him out of his thoughts. Far louder than usual, when he wasn’t tripping over himself, and Ignis didn’t quite know how to feel about that.

Within seconds, he was back. “Okay, can you open your right hand? I’m about to pass the stick.”

Ignis flexed his fingers open and felt a cool handle butt into his palm harshly. He made a small noise.

“Sorry!” Prompto blurted out. “Can I, uh, touch your arm again, or..?”

“You don’t need to ask for permission to touch me,” Ignis said, a laugh – his first proper one – in his voice. Typical Prompto.

“Uh, okay then!” Prompto’s fingers had a gentle hold on his left wrist. “I’ll, um, take the lead and just guide you to the bathroom, if that’s alright?” He paused. “You don’t – you don’t need help with the, uh, actual business bit, do you?”

A chuckle bubbled from his throat. “I should be able to handle that much.”

“Of course! Of course!”

Their footsteps were the only noise in the hallway. Ignis tried to ignore the fear that hummed in his veins; this darkness was a sensation that he would have to grow very familiar with.

In no time at all, the tugging at his wrist stopped, and Ignis halted with it.

“The bathroom’s to your right,” Prompto said. There had been a nervousness in his voice all afternoon, and it was becoming more and more pronounced as the night went on. “You want me to hold the stick?”

“Please.” He held it out and felt lost when Prompto took it away from him.

“Door’s shut. The toilet’s to the left after two or three steps, sink’s directly opposite.”

“Thank you.” Ignis’s hand fumbled until he blindly clasped it around a handle. He turned it and heard it creak open.

All things considered, his business was quick, even if he felt disgusted when he ran his hand along the wall to find the toilet and came away with it soaking wet from fluids he would rather not think about. The sink was easier to find, and he hissed when he accidentally switched on the boiling water, but he dared not be too loud. _He_ was the parent of their group, he and Gladiolus were responsible for looking after the younger ones. He would not be babied by Prompto, of _all_ people.

Prompto, who had grown up alone, had lived alone his entire life and was most likely more than capable of looking after himself.

Ignis bit his lip.

It took him too long to find a towel. Prompto was on him as soon as he closed the door behind him, the top of the walking stick gently poking Ignis’s side. He murmured a small gratitude and grabbed the cane again, swinging it out in front of him.

“You wanna walk back without me helping?”

“Please,” Ignis said, and he went ahead. It was a straight hallway. It wouldn’t – _couldn’t_ – be difficult.

Prompto was a ghost at his back until he reached the doorway. He stepped in, continued walking until his cane gave a loud ‘ _twang’_ as it smacked off the bed. Right hand side, from what he could feel. He rested the cane against the bed and stepped forward—

His foot caught around blankets, caught tight, and he jerked backwards, gasping, and then he was falling—

“Whoa!” Arms grasped him from behind and caught him at the last second. Ignis’s heart was still pounding. Prompto’s arms shook as he helped push Ignis back into a standing position. “Close call, huh?”

Embarrassment, humiliation, _shame_ , the horrible emotions that were so quickly becoming familiar clogged up his throat. He couldn’t speak; he stood there, silent, as gentle shuffles told him a story of Prompto tidying up the blanket and placing it back onto the bed.

“Well,” Prompto said, trying to inject cheer into his voice. Ignis could imagine him swinging his arms at his sides, drumming his fingers against his legs. When would that image fade, he wondered. When would he slowly but surely forget what his loved ones looked like? “You’re already in your pyjamas. Wanna try and get some more sleep?”

“Yes.” Ignis rested his hand on the bed, then paused. “Don’t you have your own room to go to?”

“You want me to leave?”

“I never said that.” Ignis sighed and inhaled sharply through his nose; Prompto didn’t deserve his misplaced anger, not when all he had done was his best to help without being suffocating. “Answer my question, Prompto.” And _this_ was familiar, him shifting into the role of the parent, Prompto the role of the awkward child. This was what he was used to.

He remembered Noctis pulling him aside, when Ignis was looking after the two of them for some reason on a random after-school day, and telling him about Prompto’s family, or the startling lack of. He had parents, true, but they were home so rarely that they might as well not have existed (Noctis hadn’t been sure if they ever _had_ existed), so _please_ go a bit easy on him?

“I, uh. I couldn’t really sleep,” Prompto mumbled. “I-I mean, that’s usual, but—“

“ _Usual_?”

“Nothing, nothing!” came the quick reply. “I’ll stay here if you want me to.”

Ignis pursed his lips at the boy’s rapid change of topic. He’d allow it, for tonight.

“I have no preference,” he said, but a tiny, hopelessly selfish part of him hoped that he would stay. He needed company – someone, _anyone_ – in this world of darkness.

He couldn’t help his sigh of relief when he heard the chair creak.

“If I snore, or talk, or dribble, or – well, y’know, gross stuff, lemme know.” Prompto gave an uneasy laugh.

“Are you comfortable?” Ignis asked.

Prompto’s reply was a low hum. He sounded so very tired, as exhausted as Ignis felt.

“…Good night, Prompto,” he said, fluffing up his pillows and allowing his head to fall back onto them. “And thank you.”

“Any time,” Prompto mumbled into what sounded like his arms. He probably had his arms crossed, resting his head on them, staring at nothing, like he did in the Regalia whenever they were all tired.

It was a long time before he fell asleep. Right before he did, Ignis thought he heard the tiniest of sobs.

* * *

 

The marsh squelched as Ignis was slammed into it for the tenth time in as many minutes. Panting, his hand smacked around blindly for his stick, his blade still gripped in his other, but he stilled when he felt the blunt edge of a broadsword barely touch his wrist.

“Get up,” Gladiolus growled. “You’d be dead by now.”

“I’d be dead long before this spar even begun,” Ignis quipped, but he managed to get his fingers around his walking stick once Gladiolus removed his sword. His grip was shaky as he pushed himself back onto his feet.

He knew that Gladiolus was going easy on him. Were this a normal sparring session, Gladiolus would never have allowed Ignis to stand on his feet, wouldn’t have taken the sword away from him for a single second.

This wasn’t normal, though. Far from it.

“You asked me to do this.” Gladiolus took a step back, his boot making an ugly noise in the marsh. Ignis’s hearing had improved remarkably in a short period of time, as well as his general ability to sense. It was as though losing his sight had amplified his other senses.

Today, though, had been a brutal reminder of how helpless he was, of how much of a hindrance he had been. Noctis and Gladiolus, snipping and snapping at each other, mainly over _him_. Prompto, constantly hovering at his side, there to pick him up and catch him before he even knew that he had fallen. Unless Ignis improved, and fast, he was a deadweight. The moment with the malboro had been more fortune than skill.

“I’m coming,” Gladiolus called, a few steps ahead of him, his voice deafening in the silence of the marsh.

Noctis and Prompto were, as far as he knew, both ‘asleep’ on the train. Ignis remembered what he had sworn to protect, but more importantly, what he had _promised_ himself he would protect, with his life, and gripped his cane tighter.

He heard Gladiolus crouch, and mimicked his motion.

Without warning, Gladiolus’s footsteps thudded. Ignis readied himself—

There! To the left!

He ducked under the wisp of air he felt move and jabbed his leg out. It stuck hard, and he grinned when he heard the softest of grunts from Gladiolus.

Gladiolus attempted to yank his foot, but Ignis was faster, drawing it back and stepping back. This wasn’t about attacking him, not yet; for now, Ignis focused on dodging and staying uninjured for as long as possible—

A hand grabbed his bicep. Instinct made Ignis drive his elbow back, but all he heard was a thud as he banged something solid. Gladiolus’s chest, he realised, and then he gasped as a punch to his stomach knocked the wind out of his lungs. He brought his cane up, but it was knocked away. Gladiolus kicked his knees from behind. He stumbled and was falling, and Gladiolus’s hand was wrapped around his wrist before he could react, holding him up.

“Good effort,” Gladiolus wheezed out, and Ignis was silently smug that he had even managed to make him breathless. Never mind that they had been doing this for the better part of a couple of hours, of course. Gladiolus let go. “We should head back before they wake up.”

Ignis nodded. Right now, despite the rifts in their group, it was best that they all remained together.

Gladiolus never had been one for small talk, so it startled Ignis when he heard the man break the silence. “I’m sorry,” he said with a quiet sigh, and it was as though a balloon had deflated. “But you know I have to do this.”

“Of course,” Ignis said. He didn’t need to know what the apology was for.

“He’s the king,” he continued. The elevator creaked and groaned as they stepped into it. Ignis felt for the end of the lift and leaned against it. “He _has_ to be able to do this.” Ignis could feel Gladiolus’ eyes on him. “No matter what happens. He’s got all of Insomnia depending on him. Hell, the rest of the world, maybe.”

“He may have gathered that from the last few days.”

Gladiolus snorted, and Ignis could imagine the wry smile that was probably on his lips. Already, though, the image took a second to form, and he felt something indescribably awful and heavy fall on his heart.

He’d forget, one day. One day, he wouldn’t be able to recall Noctis’s sleepy smile while waking up from a pleasant rest. One day, when he thought about Gladiolus with Iris, he wouldn’t be able to remember the way he ruffled her hair and the way her face scrunched up, looking just like his frown. One day, when Prompto laughed, properly laughed, he wouldn’t be able to recall the dimples that widened his cheeks and spread his freckles.

Memory was a fickle thing. The more determined you were to remember something, the more difficult it became to recall.

Ignis swallowed, looking up only when a warm hand clamped his shoulder.

“He’s got us, though,” Gladiolus said, voice warm, “and we’ve got each other.”

He nodded. “I know that.”

“There’s a difference between knowing—“ Ignis started when Gladiolus tapped the side of his head—“and _knowing_.” This time, he rasped a knuckle on Ignis’s chest, right above his heart. “You’ve always been an intelligent guy, Iggy, but not when it comes to this kind of stuff.”

“A charming compliment.”

“Honestly,” Gladiolus grumbled. His hand shifted away from Ignis’s chest. “My only problem with you boneheads is that none of you guys know when to reach out and ask for help.” He paused. “Well, okay, Prompto’s the worst, definitely, but you and Noct aren’t much better.”

“There isn’t much you _can_ help me with,” Ignis snapped, his voice sharper than he had intended. He took a deep breath at once, tried to fight past the bitter rage – at the world, at whatever had caused his blindness, but mostly at _himself_ for allowing this to happen – in his heart. He pushed his glasses up with his fingers out of habit. “I apologise.”

Gladiolus slammed his back as the elevator doors shuddered open. The action was so _bizarre_ that Ignis stayed where he was.

“Don’t apologise!” the man called. His boot squeaked on the pavement as he most likely turned around to face Ignis. Ignis, with his arm numb from combat, took a couple of seconds to begin tapping his stick from side to side to carve a way. He knew when he caught up to Gladiolus, as the man swung an arm around his shoulders. “Iggy,” he muttered, “don’t _ever_ apologise for showing your emotions.”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” he said. It was difficult around that familiar lump in his throat. “I meant for lashing out at you. This last while has been… _hard._ ”

“Yeah, no kiddin’.” Gladiolus took a long time to speak again. “It’s been hard on all of us, but especially you and Noct.” He snorted. “What’s the chances that Prompto’ll go and do something stupid?”

Ignis laughed quietly. “I’m sure even he knows now is not the time to go running into danger. Besides, we _are_ travelling on a train. What could happen?”

Gladiolus had a grin in his voice when he next spoke: “Knowing him? Anything. He could fall off or something. Lean over the balcony a bit too far, and…” He smacked a fist into his hand. “ _Bam_!”

“You sound far too delighted by that.”

“Or maybe Noct’ll push him off.” A deep rumble of a laugh rebounded in Gladiolus’s chest. “Not that I can blame him.”

“Honestly, Gladio, when you say things like that, you give the impression that you don’t like Prompto.”

“Nah, he’s a good kid. Just got a lot to learn.” Then, his voice dropped suddenly: “Steps ahead.”

“Thank you.” True enough, Ignis’s cane twanged off metal, and he raised his feet to ascend them. Stairs were getting easier, thankfully, as were a lot of other movements.

He felt hopeful, all things considered. More much so than he had been before this training session. One day, he promised himself, he wouldn’t be a deadweight.

Beside him, Gladiolus yawned. “How about we crash for the night? Pretty sure the train’s setting off again tomorrow.”

“Better make sure Prompto keeps his seatbelt on.”

A sudden laugh barked out of Gladiolus’s mouth, the noise so loud that it startled Ignis.

“Yeah,” Gladiolus guffawed, and Ignis couldn’t help but chuckle with him.

The next day, neither of them were laughing.

* * *

 

All Ignis could hear in the cramped ward were magitek trooper footsteps, rumbling from far away, all marching to an identical rhythm. Perhaps he could have considered it to be soothing, if he could just forget the source of the steps.

He didn’t know who was asleep and who was awake, but he could make a reasonable guess. The light snores was probably coming from Gladiolus, who was crashed on the bed above Ignis’s own. Not too far away, and still above them, came the quietest of breathes; Noctis always was a silent sleeper, apart from his frequent nightmares. Ignis was grateful beyond words that just once, he was free from them. Nothing came from underneath Noctis, on the bed opposite of Ignis, but Prompto always had been an extremely quiet sleeper. Clingy, yes, but silent.

Ignis was often the one who went to sleep last; a side-effect, he supposed, of gulping down too many cups of Ebony. _Stars_ , what he would give for a cup of that… He hadn’t had one for gods knew how long, and he was sorely missing it. Still, it posed too many risks now; he could spill it, accidentally stick his hand into it and scald himself, he couldn’t even make his _own_ cup if he wanted to—

_Not tonight_ , he promised himself, squeezing his eyes shut and letting out a hiss of a breath. _Not tonight._

Besides, with everything that had happened to them, he couldn’t have had a cup even if he wanted to.

…But gods, did he miss it. He missed the things he and so many others took for granted; being able to easily cloth yourself, to avoid doorways and not bump into walls, to be able to shove food into a microwave or cook it himself—

His stomach let out a long groan. Ignis made one similar to it. No one was awake, hopefully. No one would hear him.

So he closed his eyes, laid back, and tried to remember the faces of his family, of the ones he loved. Noct’s sleepy smile came to him easier than he expected, and he smiled back, at the sleep that peeked out of his eyes and softened his scowl into an image the press would pay millions for. Gladiolus’s wide grin that came after he rolled his eyes at another awful pun, when he thought no one was looking, and the way he pouted in thought when he believed that he was alone. He hadn’t known Prompto for as nearly as long as the other two, of course, but he amazed himself with the quickness that Prompto’s dimpled smile came to his mind’s eye, teeth flashing white, his puffy eyes crinkling with laughter lines at the edges that made his countless freckles shift.

Ignis smiled back at them all. Funny, how those images were so difficult to conjure up before, but now they came to him with ease. Maybe he _would_ forget them, one day, but he would do his best to remember them all for as long as possible. Forgetting wasn’t so bad, as long as they still stood by his side.

It was in that moment, caught between sleepy contentment and memories, that he heard the tiniest of sobs.

For a selfish second – less than that, even – he thought to ignore it. To pretend that he was already asleep, because he was so _tired_ , but then he remembered the first night of this new darkness. He had had a friend with him, from the very beginning, and that night he had heard an identical sound.

Ignis clenched his hands over his chest, over his beating heart, and opened his mouth.

“Prompto?” he called softly. Gladiolus got furious when he was upset, lashing out at others, refusing to acknowledge that he was even upset to begin with. Noctis was a noisy crier, the very few times Ignis had seen him do so. Ignis had never seen Prompto upset, not like this, but it was startlingly easy to imagine him as a completely silent crier, biting his lip until it bled and digging his nails into his fists until they cut deep into his palms.

He heard a startled sniffle, then more silence, the silence of someone desperately attempting to not release a single hint of noise.

Well, if simply calling his name wasn’t enough…

“Is everything alright, Prompto?”

“Sorry,” came the high-pitched response. He heard more shuffling. “Just – can’t get to sleep. Sorry if I – I woke you up.”

There it was, the tiniest of hitches in his breath for the smallest of seconds. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, Ignis had grown acclimatised to detecting the tiniest hints of grief (Noctis had always been infamously good at hiding his emotions), and this was one of the very few areas where his lack of eyesight served to further enhance it.

A sudden shiver ran through his spine. It _was_ awfully cool.

“You did no such thing,” Ignis replied, a couple of seconds too late. “Are you cold?”

“…Nah,” came the whisper. More shuffling: “Just…“

He said nothing more.

“Just what?” Ignis prodded.

“Nothing,” Prompto mumbled. Ignis heard him stand, the familiar platter of boots thumping the ground. “Just – get some sleep, Ignis. We can’t do this without you.”

“And you think we can without you?”

A louder hitch of breath this time. The footsteps stopped, and Ignis knew that he was on the right track.

“You don’t—“ Prompto paused again, taking in a breath that seemed to rattle through his ribs. “I… can I sit on your bed?”

“Certainly.”

The bed creaked, and Ignis heard Prompto run his hands through his hair. “Sorry, I – I don’t really know how to… y’know.”

“Talk?”

Silence, before Prompto spluttered: “Y-yeah. Sorry, I, uh, nodded, and then…”

“You’re quite alright—”

“ _That’s_ what I don’t get!” Prompto snapped. A fist slammed the bed, and Ignis heard him choke on his own rage. The harsh anger was unfamiliar, but the emotion behind it – the awful self-loathing – was the very opposite of new. “I don’t – I don’t _understand_!”

Best to approach this with a calm and open ear. Prompto would not be in the best of mental states tonight. Truthfully? Ignis found it remarkable that he had held himself together this long. “Understand what?” he murmured. He reached out his fingers, searching, and found Prompto’s jiggling thigh. His leg was tapping up and down furiously, the way he did when he was antsy.

“ _This_ ,” Prompto whispered. He yanked his leg out from under Ignis’s hand, and the concern in Ignis’s heart grew considerably. “You guys – you always – you’re always so _kind_. I don’t… _I don’t…_ ”

“It’s been a long few weeks,” Ignis said, feeling his heart thunder nervously with the unfamiliar. ‘Long’ was an understatement, he thought. Prompto’s silence regarding when Ardyn had done to him spoke far louder than any words. There were some horrors, some experiences, for which you had no words for. That you _couldn’t_ explain, not now, not ever, because no words could fully explain what you had gone through. Even now, when he thought of his final moments of sight, Ignis struggled to put it into words. “Try to get some rest, Prompto. Your mind won’t be in the best of places—“

“I think about this _every_ day,” he snarled. The floor rumbled with his tapping. For a second, the rational, detached part of Ignis’s mind worried about waking the others – and then he shoved that part away. Not now. This wasn’t the battlefield. “I don’t – I don’t _deserve_ this.”

Ignis let the words bounce in his mind. “Deserve what?”

“ _This!”_ Whatever the ‘this’ was, Prompto seemed determined – or unable – to expand on it. “You wouldn’t get it, you wouldn’t – you _can’t_.”

“If you explain it to me, Prompto, even just a little, I may be able to help.”

“You can’t!”

“Says who!?” Ignis snapped. He forced his fists to uncurl; he couldn’t remember tightening them. “You think you are the only one struggling, Prompto? Have you forgotten that I am _blind_!?”

Silence. Ignis was already regretting his words – Stars, what he would give for sight, in that single moment. What he would give to see how much damage his words had wrought, and how best he could go about repairing it.

They caught in his throat, though. The apologies gathered like steelwool, scratching and itching. He couldn’t get them out.

The quiet stretched, right until Prompto thudded back onto the bed, making no noise otherwise.

It was a long time before the silence broke.

 “Why don’t you hate me?” Prompto heaved, voice shaking. Ignis could feel his body trembling. “I don’t – _I don’t_ —“ He took a sharp breath, breathing far too fast, far too deeply. “I’m – I’m—“

“Prompto—“ Ignis began, his heart thundering in his throat.

“I’m a Niff and I’m – I’m a MT. I’m not even _human_.” Ignis heard Prompto curl up on himself, making a terrible noise, like injured prey begging to be put down, to be released from pain. His heart fell; how could Prompto not see himself as human when he was expressing such human emotions, when he was the most human out of all of them? “Why don’t you all _hate_ me!? Why!? Do you – do you _pity_ me, for being a monster, or—“

“I do no such thing,” Ignis said sharply, but now was not the time for a voice of reason. “And you are _not_ a monster—“

“I don’t understand,” Prompto whimpered. “ _I don’t_ _understand_. _Why?_ ”

Ignis had been correct about Prompto being a silent crier. He felt, rather than heard, his friend shaking on the bed, and he didn’t want to imagine what he looked like right now. Of course, the mind was cruel, and it soon became all he could imagine; Prompto, cheeks flushed red, redder than the deep bags under his eyes that he always laughed off (“Up all night playing King’s Knight!”), tears streaking over his freckles, fingers clenching, unclenching, his entire body heaving—

The bed creaked as Ignis moved to sit on the edge. He followed the tremors, until his hand brushed over Prompto’s right wrist.

“D-don’t,” he whispered, attempting to muster anger into his voice as he snapped his wrist away, but all Ignis could hear was fear. “Don’t touch me – d-don’t—“

Ignis moved his hand up, so very slowly, and clenched his fingers around the top of Prompto’s shoulder. The shakes worsened.

“P-p-please…” Prompto swallowed. “Don’t – don’t – I’m not – I—“

“You’ll be okay,” Ignis whispered, and pulled, very gently. He didn’t panic when he felt a head hit his shoulder, nor when Prompto’s arms wrapped around him, one over his shoulder, the other weakly clenching at his shirt. He only shut his eyes and listened as Prompto finally gave up any pretences of being okay.

Prompto’s fingers seized the back of Ignis’s shirt as his entire body shook. Chest to chest like this, the pounding of Prompto’s heart, came even faster than his agonised breathes. The noise roared in Ignis’s ears.

Any words now would not be heard. Instead, Ignis lifted his hand and rested it on top of Prompto’s hair, frowning when he felt dried blood cake on his hands. He didn’t say a word, though, as he stroked his hand from top to bottom. Prompto made a terrible sound, a wail of the dying, and rested his head on top of Ignis’s shoulder. The rattles from his body made Ignis’s own shake.

“You’ll be okay,” Ignis repeated, and he knew, in his heart, that he would go against the Six themselves if it meant making his loved ones happy.

None of them deserved this, gods. Noctis didn’t deserve tragedy after tragedy, an unwilling king being forced to his position, to a thankless role where he could never be _normal_ and would die long before his time. That, of course, was even considering that they would survive this, and after his father and Lunafreya’s death…

…Well. They _had_ survived this, hadn’t they? They had survived so far. Why couldn’t they survive the rest?

Gladiolus came to his mind. He may not have baited an eyelid at his father’s death, but his overwhelming concern for Iris’s wellbeing was proof enough that he loved hard and he loved often. Ignis had come to his aid, on the few nights where it all became a bit too much to hold in. They’d stay up late, sipping cups of Ebony, and while Gladiolus never spoke about what bothered him, the gratitude in his eyes spoke volumes.

Ignis had survived being _blinded_. He was quite proud of that himself. When it had first happened… gods, he had felt ready to crumple. He hadn’t, though – or rather, he hadn’t been allowed to, by the people that _he_ loved, and who loved _him_ , flaws and all. He would adapt, he _would_ , and he knew that things would improve.

And Prompto, an innocent civilian, who had come along on their journey only because he wanted to support his best friend. Prompto, who loved others so selflessly, who gave up so much of himself, only because he wanted everyone else to be happy.

And what was his reward? _This._ Just – this. Ignis didn’t think that words alone could do his suffering justice.

Prompto made the smallest of whimpers; Ignis inhaled deeply, breathing, forcing himself to unclench his fingers from Prompto’s hair. Prompto was not the source of his rage. He did not deserve this.

Instead, Ignis dropped his hand and pulled Prompto into a hug.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you, Prompto, for being you.”

His breath hitched, but Prompto said nothing more. Ignis felt the smallest of nods against his damp shoulder.

They stayed like that for a long, long moment, but it was over too all too soon. When Ignis felt Prompto pull away, he allowed his arms to relax.

“T-thanks, Ignis,” Prompto whispered, his voice tight with a nervous kind of happiness, as though he wasn’t sure if he should be feeling it. “For – for everything.”

Ignis said nothing. Instead, he stretched out his hand, trying to smother his smile at the confused noise Prompto made.

“May I have your wrist?” he asked softly.

There was stillness for a while, then Ignis heard shuffling, the gentle clicking of metal bracelets coming loose. Prompto’s wrist was as chilled as bone when he placed it into Ignis’s hand without a noise, jagged fingernails brushing against Ignis’s palm.

He didn’t speak either. He ran his fingers along until he felt the smallest of extrusions, and he felt Prompto go very, very still. He must have found the barcode, the secret that Prompto had spent his entire life concealing.

“This is part of you,” Ignis said, keeping his voice low. “That much is true.” His fingers curled around his friend’s wrist. “But it is not _you_. It does not define who you are, Prompto, and I – _we_ – do not ever wish for you to think that. You are worth much more than this.” His grip tightened. “Do not _ever_ forget that, Prompto.”

His wrist shook. Ignis’s heart dropped, thudding with the feeling that he had gone horribly wrong, had gotten this _all_ wrong, until he realised that Prompto was laughing. Laughing as though he could burst into tears any second, but it was still laughter.

“You’re the best, Iggy,” he whispered, sounding as though he couldn’t quite believe Ignis’ words. “You really are the best.”

“Thank you for trusting me.”

“No, Iggy, thank you for – for everything.” He sniffled. “For… for being my family.”

Ignis smiled. “Thank you for being a part of it.”

* * *

 

A few weeks before their king returned, Ignis met up with Gladiolus after a brutal night of daemon hunting. Eternal darkness may have poured out across all of Eos, but Lestallum, at least, attempted to keep to a regular schedule of day and night. If Ignis still had sight, perhaps he would have better adjusted, but it wasn’t unusual for him to be up and roaming at hours that most slept at.

Gladiolus slid into the restaurant seat opposite of him. Ignis felt one arm, then the other, and settled himself into it, frowning at its squeak. Food wasn’t being served at this hour, of course, and Ignis turned down the offer of drinks. He never had been keen on alcohol, distrustful of himself and what kind of actions he could have done while intoxicated.

A tense silence fell between them. Ignis sighed, drumming his fingers against the metal frame of his chair. He heard Gladiolus swallow; was he _nervous_?

“Gladio, as much as I enjoy seeing you—“ And he grinned at the guffaw of laughter that Gladiolus attempted to muffle—“I know you didn’t ask me to meet you for no reason.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Gladiolus muttered. “That obvious, huh?” If he hadn’t sounded jumpy before, he certainly did now, and Ignis felt his heart thud uncomfortably loud in his chest.

“Is everything alright?” he asked. His mind reeled through the possibilities, the tiny list of things that could unnerve Gladiolus this badly. “Is Iris okay? Is _Prompto_ okay—“

Gladiolus’s disbelieving laugh cut him off. “Iris’s fine,” he said, amused, “and as far as I know, so is Prompto.” A pause. “Not that I’ve seen him for… _Six_ knows how long—“

“Seven months.”

“Yeah,” Gladiolus murmured. “A while.” A hand slammed the table between them. “ _Anyway_ , I ain’t talkin’ about him tonight. I, uh, got something to give to you.”

Ignis raised his eyebrows. He leaned forward in his seat, elbows on his knees, cupped hands under his chin. “And whatever could it be?”

“It’d be easier if you read it – it’s in Braille.”

Crumbled paper was being unfolded in front of him, before Gladiolus slid it into his waiting hand. Murmuring a thank you, Ignis took his finger to the top-left of the paper, until he felt a familiar series of bumps, and began to trace his finger over the text. Gladiolus’s anxious drumming fingers stopped at the same moment that Ignis’s hand froze.

“You—“ He cleared his throat, genuinely speechless. “Am – am I reading this correctly?”

He could hear the grin in his friend’s voice. “Sure are.”

Starting again, Ignis took a deep breath and placed his finger down once more.

_“Dear Ignis,”_ it began, _“you are formally invited to the wedding of Gladiolus Amicitia—“_

He had to stop there. Only the first sentence, and his mind was already swimming.

“You – you’re _engaged_?”

“Sure am.” The chair creaked as Gladiolus most likely leaned back in it. “Just there. We’re saving the wedding for _after_ we save the world though.”

“After he comes back?”

The air fell heavy.

“Yeah.” Gladiolus’s hand was fever-hot when he curled it over Ignis’s own. “I need to ask you a favour.”

Ignis swallowed. He thought about removing his hand, but he did nothing. “Whatever you need, Gladio.”

“I want you to be my best man.”

All Ignis did was laugh, in a slightly hysterical way that made Gladiolus draw his hand back.

“ _Me_?” he managed to get out when he had calmed a little. It was a lack of sleep, he wanted to blame, but it wasn’t that, not really. It was the fact that despite everyone currently being stuck in what might as well have been hell, Gladiolus – _of all people_ – had managed to find a partner, someone to share a romantic relationship with. Ignis had never really thought about any of their family in romantic engagements – Noctis to Lunafreya, perhaps, before all of this had happened – but here it was.

Gladiolus had a significant other.

“Yeah.” Gladiolus’s voice was steely. His hand clamped around Ignis’s arm and squeezed, his many callouses digging into Ignis’s skin.

“Why not ask Noct? Or Prompto?”

“Iggy.” Gladiolus made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “I can’t ask them. You know I can’t. You and I, we’ve been lookin’ after those kids since the very beginning. I can’t ask one of _them_ to be my best man.”

A pause, then:

“Besides, I… I’d rather have you. We’ve gone through a lot of shit, Iggy.” His hand squeezed again, sweaty against the icy air. Ignis thought he could hear daemons, in the far distance. The squelching of flans, the rumbling growls of a red giant. “I want you to be there for the biggest day of my life.”

Ignis smirked. “Even bigger than becoming a member of the Crownsguard?”

“I – _uhhh_.” There was that embarrassment that Ignis loved to hear in his friend’s voice. “Well, everyone _says_ that it’s a big day.”

“Not that any of us have had much experience with romance, of course.” Ignis smiled. “Apart from you.”

Gladiolus, being the most romantically active of the four of them. The universe was bizarre sometimes.

“You don’t have to do it, of course,” Gladiolus’ next words came out in a rush, as though he was only remembering them now: “I mean, _duh_ , I’m gonna grab Prompto and drag his scrawny ass to it if it’s the last thing I do, but if ya don’t want to be best man I’ll ask—“

“Gladiolus.” Ignis folded his hands in his lap, waiting.

“Sorry.”

“I… I would be deeply honoured to be your best man. I accept.”

Ignis gasped on empty air as he felt a chest barrel into his own. Arms linked around his back, gentle enough to not crush, strong enough that he couldn’t escape. Gladiolus’s breath tickled his ear.

“ _Thank you_ ,” he whispered, and Ignis knew that it wasn’t just for this wedding. Ignis wrapped his own arms around him, hands struggling to link together against the vast land that was Gladiolus’s back. “We did good, huh?” he rumbled.

“We did good,” Ignis confirmed, because despite everything, they really had.

Most of them were alive. They had each other. They’d _saved the world._ For now, that was more than good enough.

* * *

 

The priest’s voice rang out soft in the afternoon sunlight. Ignis could feel it beating down on his neck, on the tiny patch of skin that was exposed in his suit. After ten years of darkness, it was a sensation that he would never grow used to.

“The bride and groom may now kiss,” she began to say, and the rest of her words were drowned out by cheers and the slamming of tables.

Beside him, Iris’s hand latched onto Ignis’s wrist and nearly crushed the poor bone. Now at twenty-five, she had just as much muscle as her brother in his younger days, and her fame as a powerful hunter hadn’t come from nowhere. Ignis winced and tried to gently shake her off. “They’re kissing!” she squealed. “Gladdy’s kissing her and—“ The air exploded with a thousand cheers— “she just lifted him!”

What a sight to imagine, he thought with a smile. Around them, the crowds grew louder.

“I never thought I’d see this,” Iris murmured, her voice dreamy. “Gladdy getting married.”

“Me neither,” Ignis said. There was a beat of silence.

Ignis could feel several horrified and uncomfortable glances at him from the people of their table, right before Iris’s _cackles_ broke loose. She smacked his shoulder; he stumbled under the weight.

“Iggy, you’re the best!”

The celebrations carried on similar to the few weddings Ignis could remember attending, before that fateful day – what, almost eleven years, now? His heart ached at the thought. He was thirty-two, and it was only truly now that he was beginning to live. The people he had remembered as children – Iris, Talcott – were similar ages to what his odd family had been, all living their own lives. Cindy was still a famed mechanic. Even at forty, Aranea refused to slow down for anyone or anything. None of them saw much of Cor, but only due to him being out of the area so often with aid and recovery efforts. Monica was training civilians, and now that the Starscourge was over, seemed quite content to bring her four cats along with her for the training effects. Iris had finally worked up the courage to ask out her crush, and she and her girlfriend were due to go on a hunt shortly after the wedding.

They all had their own lives. Ignis wondered what people thought when they saw him. Hopefully, although it was probably a futile hope, they didn’t see him solely as a blind man. True, his blindness was part of him, but it was not _all_ of him.

He was standing at the dessert table, lemonade in hand, when an elbow gently bumped his side. He heard the jangling of chains as boots tapped the tiles in front of him.

“Hey, Iggy,” Iris said, her voice soft. “How you findin’ it so far?”

“Fantastic. Yourself?”

She let out a happy sigh. “It’s great. I couldn’t imagine this going any better.” She clapped her hands. “Your speech was _amazing_ , Iggy!”

“Why, thank you.”

“I’m pretty sure you unnerved the guests with how many blind jokes you made, though.”

He couldn’t stop his sudden snort of laughter. “Please. I hardly made _that_ many.”

“Oh, I dunno. Kinda lost count after five.”

“Did you turn a blind eye to them?”

A beat of silence—

_“Iggy!”_ She shrieked, smacking his bicep. Ignis grinned.

Her entire weight snuggled against his arm, but she wasn’t leaning heavily enough to be uncomfortable. When Ignis rested a hand on her hair – short, jagged, after she had attempted cutting it herself a few weeks ago after a lost bet with her brother – she let out a mighty yawn. “Sorry, just tired.”

“No need to apologise.” She always had been a little sister to them, even ten years on. “Do you want to go to your room?”

“Nah, it’s only late afternoon!” Still, she let out another loud yawn. “I _have_ got a hunt soon, though… maybe I should clock out.”

“Maybe you should. I can see to it that the staff deliver you extra blankets.”

“Awww, you’re the _best_.” She squeezed her arms around his arm, the warmth of her body making his heart cozy. “You don’t need to do that…” she trailed off, and Ignis was familiar with this tone; the tone of someone who wanted to ask a favour, but was hesitant to do so.

“Is there something I _could_ do?” he offered.

“…Well, if you wouldn’t mind.” She extracted her arms away from him, and he heard a boot tap the ground. “Just – can you find where Prompto’s gone off to? I saw him leave earlier.”

“When, exactly?”

“Hmm… a bit after your speech started.” That was a good twenty minutes ago, at least. Her voice was concerned. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” she said, dragging out the last word, the voice of someone who was convinced that it was much more than ‘nothing’. “But if there _is_ something up…”

Ignis nodded. “More chance of him saying so to me than to you.”

“Pretty much! Thanks, Iggy!” She threw her arms over his shoulders in a sudden hug and squeezed tight, her arms crushing his back. “You’re the best!”

“P-please let go,” he wheezed.

“Sorry!” She gave his cheek a quick peck. “See you later, Iggy!”

The thudding of her boots faded as she went, the noises of her soon lost amongst the idle hustle bustle of the countless wedding guests. Ignis exchanged pleasantries with them as he weaved his way through them – yes, he was good; yes, he had worked very hard on that speech; yes, he missed Noctis, all of them did, but today was not a day for mourning. Today was a day of celebration.

He had mentioned Noctis in his speech, several times, and he suddenly understood why Prompto had left during it.

Many of the guests were beginning to leave, exchanging hugs and eager farewells. The air was thick with a feeling Ignis had not had much of in recent years – hope, that tomorrow would be a kinder day.

With the sun back in the sky, Ignis didn’t see (ha) any reason as to why that couldn’t happen.

Ignis had known Prompto for over thirteen years, even since that fateful day at his graduation, so it was easy to guess where he would be and easier to find him. It was a bit of a struggle shimmying down the narrow walkway on the balcony, especially when he had to feel his way forward in an unfamiliar environment, but he was awarded soon enough.

The scene here, if he had sight, would probably have been beautiful. Sylleblossoms hung thick in the air – they always had a distinct scent, not too sweet, something that smelled a lot like home – and Ignis’s hand brushed along several petals as he leaned on the balcony.

He could smell something else, something sharp and bitter and ashy that made him frown. He heard someone startle with a familiar gasp.

“ _Prompto_ ,” he said firmly.

“I know!” Prompto spluttered. “I know, I _know_ , you hate me doing it.” He was grinding something into the ground with the heel of his boot.

“We all hate it,” Ignis muttered. He coughed as smoke hit his mouth, thick and strong. He’d recognise that stench anywhere. “You don’t need to do it, Prompto.”

“I _know_ that,” he mumbled. Ignis heard his fingers nervously drum against the railing. “I just – it helps me… y’know.”

“Calm down,” Ignis finished softly, saying the words Prompto couldn’t.

“Yeah.” A quiet, bitter sounding laugh came from him. “All of these years, you’d think I’d be over it by now.”

“Anxiety doesn’t go away with age, Prompto.”

“I can _wish_ ,” he muttered.

Ignis craned his neck back. If he tilted it at the right angle, he could feel the sunlight hitting his face.

“Iris told me that you stepped out earlier, during my speech.”

“Ah, man, I was _really_ hopin’ no one would notice…” Prompto let out a hefty sigh, boots scuffling on the floor. “I just needed some air.”

“And you got that by smoking?” Ignis asked wryly.

“C’mon, I only do it when I get _really_ messed up.”

Ignis quirked an eyebrow. He didn’t need sight to know the look that would smack Prompto’s face in—

“Uh!”

_There_.

“N-not that I’m, y’know, bad right now or anything.” Prompto’s boots squeaked. He was probably rocking back and forth on them and fiddling with his hands, the way he did when he got nervous. “Just – overwhelmed.”

“Too much noise?”

“Something like that.”

Ignis hummed, but Prompto seemed to be quite content to not continue.

It was a long time before Prompto spoke.

“Sorry for just… leaving like that,” he muttered. “I just – man, it’s so pathetic.”

Ignis turned his head. “What is?”

“As… as soon as you mentioned Noct, I…” Prompto’s gloves squeaked as he twisted his fingers. “I couldn’t _breathe_ , man. It just – hit me, that he was – he should have been there, he should have been, but he wasn’t, he’s… he’s _dead_.”

“We all miss him,” Ignis murmured. “Dreadfully so.” He rested a fist over his heart, over that awful _emptiness_ , that space that ached every time he thought of Noctis, of his friend’s laughter, his friend’s smile, his _family_. For a few seconds, it hurt to breathe.

Noctis wouldn’t want them to be like this, he knew. He wouldn’t want them to wallow in their own grief. Gods knew that, between them, they had enough trauma to weigh down even the Six.

“I know he wouldn’t want us to be like this,” Prompto continued. The wind whistled in Ignis’ ears. “I _know_ that.”

Ignis remembered words Gladiolus had told him, so many years ago.

“There’s a difference,” he murmured, “between your heart knowing it and your head knowing it.”

Prompto made a surprised noise, but then laughed quietly. “Yeah, no kiddin’. Like, I keep telling my head ‘he’s dead, dude, he wouldn’t want you to sulk like this’ but _then_ —“ He thudded his chest—“my heart keeps going ‘he’s _dead_ , man, why the hell are you alive when he’s not?’.”

Ignis shot him a look that he hoped was over the frame of his glasses. “You don’t _believe_ that, do you?”

“Nah, not nearly as much as I used to.” He could hear the impish grin in Prompto’s voice. “Trust me, Iggy, I was a hell of a lot worse a decade ago with all of this stuff. You… helped a lot, y’know.” He paused. “A _decade_? Dude, that’s ten years ago!”

“I knew you must have graduated high school due to your intelligence.”

Prompto smacked his arm, laughing. “Damn straight! You must have graduated due to your smokin’ hot looks.”

Ignis smirked. “Do you really think so?”

Prompto’s screech was loud enough to startle several birds into squawking.

“ _I_ DON’T THINK THAT!”

“Mhhmm,” Ignis said, turning his head to hide his smile.

“I _DON’T_!”

“Mhhmmm.”

Prompto made a huffing noise, boots scuffing impatiently against the brick floor. They fell into a comfortable silence, the type where you had known the other person for so long, were so familiar with them, that the quiet sometimes spoke louder than words. Ignis rested his elbows on the railing and tried to imagine what Prompto was seeing right now. A setting sun, falling behind dark hills and buildings. Perhaps a river flowing nearby, weaving its way through the mountains. His finger brushed against a sylleblossom, and he knew that the image in his mind’s eye would be nothing compared to the reality.

The thought didn’t hurt, not nearly as much as it used to.

“Are you ready to go back inside?” Ignis asked. He pushed himself away from the railing.

“Yeah,” Prompto whispered. “Gotta take some pics, right?”

“Indeed.”

Prompto’s skinny arm coiled around his own, linking them together. Ignis smiled.

“You’re wearing a jacket.”

“No need to sound so smug, Gladio insisted on it. Said I couldn’t show my scrawny arms.” Prompto’s voice grew into a stage-whisper. “I’ll tell you a secret, Iggy; I think he’s just jealous of my muscles.”

Ignis snorted.

“He made me shave my _amazing_ goatee, though,” Prompto moaned. “Like, he texted me… two days before? Yeah, about two days, and all it said was ‘if you don’t shave that fuzz you call hair off your chin I’ll do it myself’. And, y’know, I thought he was jokin’. I really did.”

Ignis smiled into his hand, trying not to snort again. He already had a funny feeling of how this story would end.

“Of course, what does the guy do? He shows up at reception with a razor and cream and drags me into the bathroom and shaves it off for me!” Prompto sighed. “Honestly, I really liked it…”

“I’m glad I never had to see it,” Ignis said wryly.

Prompto elbowed him, laughing.

It was a gorgeous day. He could feel the sunlight beating down on them all, smell the sylleblossoms thick in the air, mixed with the tiniest hint of smoke. Prompto’s arm was flush around his arm.

“It’s a great day to be alive,” Prompto whispered, and Ignis’s smile couldn’t be any wider.

“We made it.”

Prompto hummed. “We sure did.” He stopped, suddenly, and made noises as he let go of Ignis’s arm. “I need to get a pic with the best man, gimme a sec!”

Ignis chuckled, unable to stop smiling as he heard the tell-tale whirls of Prompto’s camera coming to life. He had barely used it, during those ten long years, and the knowledge of its return made Ignis’s heart warm.

Throwing an arm around his shoulder – he was still smaller, by quite a few inches, and Ignis felt quietly smug at that – Prompto spoke: “Just look a bit up, to your left…” Ignis followed his instructions, until Prompto told him to stop. “Alright, smile!”

He heard a gentle clink, then Prompto’s gasp. “Holy…”

“Is everything alright?”

“Y-yeah, sorry.” Prompto’s arm slid off his shoulder. “It’s just – Iggy, dude, you have the most gorgeous smile.” He punched Ignis’s bicep, laughing. “You need to show it off more!”

“What, and wonder how the ladies react?”

He could _hear_ Prompto roll his eyes. “Ha _ha_ , _hilarious_. Like you’re attracted to them.” Prompto clapped his hands together. “Now! Let’s get back in before Gladio murders us!”

“Indeed. Let’s.” As they began to walk, Ignis couldn’t resist speaking: “Even I couldn’t turn a blind eye to murder.”

“Would you _stop_ using that pun!” Prompto wailed, but Ignis could hear him snorting with quiet laughter. “You’re the _worst.”_

A comfortable lull fell over them. Prompto’s head rested against Ignis’s shoulder as he continued to chatter, voice alive with emotions that Ignis hadn’t heard for a long time. Ignis tried to listen, he really did, but it was impossible when the only thing he could feel was the _happiness_ bubbling from his heart.

Yes, he had a lot of things to work through – they all did – but Ignis didn’t mind. He had the rest of his life to do so.

He had love; people who he loved, people who loved _him_ , and really, that was all anyone ever needed.


End file.
